


Abyss of Shadows

by Raelyn_Sakura



Series: Shadow Justice [2]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Egypt, Angst, Diabound is a protective ka, Gen, Gore, I'm Sorry, implied rape, little Bakura feels, lots of feels, very violent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-07-21 16:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7394059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raelyn_Sakura/pseuds/Raelyn_Sakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prequel to "Shadow Justice"<br/>Thousands of years ago, the ultimate evil was created. The Millennium Items were born. A boy's entire world is slaughtered before his eyes, sacrificed to bring about peace for a kingdom that has forsaken him. A struggle for survival grows into a deep hatred and a lust for revenge that consumes him and triggers a grudge that will last for thousands of years to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Begins Part 1

Ra’s glorious journey across the sky was coming to a close, the vivid blue of the sky giving way to a conflagration of lighter pinks and oranges that signified Ra’s descent into the underworld from which he would rise victorious the next morning. The distant Nile glinted, throwing off reflections of Ra’s stunning train. The small village of Kul Elna was alive with raucous laughter and nagging wives rushing to drag husbands home for the final meal of the day. A group of young boys ran through the alleys and roads of the village screaming. A fierce war was being waged with sticks and sand as the boys fought each other, ignoring the indignant cries of people that got in the way of their battle.

Akefia was seething.

He stared balefully at the gaggle of boys then cast a glare up from his position squatting in the sand outside of his family’s hut. His mother ignored his glare in favor of offering Ahmose her breast. The infant attached herself to her food with a happy gurgle, waving a tiny fist triumphantly. Tiy smiled and lifted the baby into a more comfortable position, gently patting her back before casting her gaze back to the desert sands. She squinted in the evening wind, attentively watching for the telltale signs of her husband’s return from the Valley of the Kings.

Akefia’s attention was again drawn back to the campaign the other boys were waging and he stabbed at the ground angrily with his stick, deliberately spearing a passing beetle.  
A nudge from his mother’s foot knocked him over. “Akhet! That was unnecessary!”

Akefia scowled and got back to his feet, meeting his mother’s glare with one of his own. The kick hadn’t hurt. It was merely meant to off-balance him. “Why? It hurt nothing!”

“The beetle hurt nothing!” Tiy scolded. “All living things have purpose, Akhet. You just ended a life.”

Akefia glanced at the beetle still squirming grotesquely on the end of his stick. “I’m bored!” he whined, giving Tiy his best put-upon look. “Why must I wait for Father? I want to go play!”

Tiy shook her head, immune to her son’s charms. “It is good for sons to wait on their fathers. You are our only son. Respect your father and wait for his return with me.” Ahmose released Tiy’s nipple with a popping sound and voiced her agreement with a loud squeal.

Tiy turned back to her task of breastfeeding, quieting the baby and guiding her back to her nipple. She looked to find her five-year-old son still scowling at the beetle and bouncing from foot to foot impatiently. A smile quirked Tiy’s mouth and she ruffled Akefia’s pale hair affectionately, ignoring the boy’s indignant squawk.

“Shall I teach you more writing? Or shall you only practice tonight?” Tiy’s smile widened as Akefia’s head snapped up with interest. “Write your name, Akhet.”

Akefia shook the beetle unceremoniously from the end of his stick and resumed his squat in the sand. Carefully, he drew the hieroglyph for “dedication” followed closely by the ankh for “life.” Looking up, he saw Tiy nodding her head.

“Very good,” Tiy grinned, shifting her silvery hair over her shoulder. Carefully, so as not to disturb Ahmose’s feeding, she squatted down next to her son. “And now I will teach you another very special name.”

Akefia’s eyes lit up. “Will you teach me to write the dragon god’s name?”

“No. Not yet. You are not yet versed in any of the holy scriptures. Osiris will have to wait.” Tiy shifted and took the stick from her son. “Watch me and copy what I write.” Slowly, making sure Akefia was watching her movements, Tiy traced the figure of a crescent moon, followed by three fox-skins hanging together, and finally a shepherd’s staff. “Now you.”

Wrinkling his brow and sticking out his tongue in concentration, Akefia traced the crescent moon, struggled with the fox-skins for a few tense moments, before finally finishing the staff with a flourish. 

Tiy admired her son’s handy-work with pride. “It is wonderful, Akhet! You will grow to be a fine scholar or artist.”

Akefia thrust out his chest at his mother’s praise, his irritation forgotten. “What have I written, Mother?”

Tiy held out her hand for Akefia’s. The boy responded by putting one tiny hand in her thin one. Tiy guided his hand to rest on his younger sister’s head. “I taught you to write Ahmoset’s name.”

Akefia stroked the infant’s head tenderly. “What does it mean?”

Tiy pointed to the first character, the crescent moon. “This signifies the moon, simple enough.” Akefia nodded eagerly then pointed to the three fox-skins hanging in a bundle. “Those represent birth. So, the name Ahmose means ‘born of the moon.’ Do you see?”

Akefia nodded again after a moment. He stared at the written name in the sand, then to his sister, then back to the name, memorizing it.

Tiy put her hand on Akefia’s chin, gently turning her son’s head to look at her. “Akefia. I want you to listen to me.” Akefia’s eyes widened as his mother used his given name instead of his pet name. When Tiy used his real name, it meant she was serious. And Tiy was serious now. “I am entrusting you with this knowledge of Ahmose’s name. Names are very sacred. Never forget how to write yours or hers. Without names, Anubis cannot let you into the afterlife. Understand? You must always protect and guard your name. And one day, I want you to teach Ahmoset her name as well. Will you do that?”

The boy nodded solemnly, eyes still wide as saucers. He looked at Ahmose’s name with a new reverence, then to his own name written beside it.

A musical giggle sounded close by. “My, mother. You are serious today!”

Akefia shot to his feet with a shrill cry. “Maatkare!”

His older sister giggled again, bending down and reaching to embrace her little brother. Akefia ran to her, being very careful of her swollen belly. He nuzzled her nose with his own and allowed her to use him as a prop so that she could stand back up. Maatkare took his hand and walked back to their mother.

Akefia studied his older sister carefully. Married for less than a year, she was already greatly pregnant with her first child. Her cheeks were rosy and her breasts were swollen with new milk. Her dark hair lay in several plaits down her back. She had even taken the time to braid water lilies from the nearby Nile into her hair. Alone of Tiy’s three living children, Maatkare had inherited her father’s dark hair. Akefia and Ahmose both favored their mother’s unusual light hair and violet eyes.

“And how is my beautiful daughter today?” Tiy laughed, reaching out and caressing her daughter’s cheek.

Maatkare mimicked her mother’s happy smile and placed both hands on her belly. “My son moves more each day. The time approaches for him to be born. Gods willing, he will be born before the feast for the Prince’s birthday.”

Akefia frowned and put his hands on Maatkare’s belly. “Why must we celebrate the Prince’s birthday if we aren’t attending it?” he asked.

“Because,” Tiy explained patiently, “our Prince Atem will be the next Pharaoh. He is already considered a god on earth. His life will bring great wealth and prosperity to our country.”

“Is that why the hordes of foreigners are lurking outside of our borders, just waiting for a chance to ruin us?” came the voice of the widowed man who lived in the next hut. He stuck his wrinkled face out of his door and glared with his one good eye. “Is that why we almost starved in the famine?”

Akefia remembered the famine well. The intense hunger he had felt. Many people in Kul Elna were sent to the Afterlife early as a result, including three of Akefia’s older siblings. Two boys and a girl. Their bellies had swollen as if with child while their other limbs grew thinner and weaker. Finally, one after the other, they had all gone to meet Anubis. Akefia was too young to remember their names. Only that they were gone. He also remembered the devastated look on his mother’s face as his father carried his eldest son out of the hut with solemn finality.

Maatkare remembered as well. Akefia could tell by the sudden pained look on her face. He glanced at his mother and saw pain in her face too. Everyone within earshot had stopped what they were doing as well. They all remembered it too well. Not a single family in the village escaped losing someone. A father, a mother, a child. Everyone in Kul Elna knew the pain of loss and hunger.

“Fat lot of good our esteemed Pharaoh or his royal brat did us then!” the man continued to snap. Akefia had heard his mother and father talking about how he had lost his entire family, a wife and three children, to hunger.

“Enough, grandfather,” Tiy said gently. “It does no good to insult the monarchy of our country. We are fed now. The gods have blessed us with ample food this harvest.”

“Humph. Only because your husband and the other men that were left alive decided robbing royal tombs was the way to get food.” The old man cackled again. “The monarchy never helped us. So we helped ourselves from their stupid dead.”

Tiy shifted uncomfortably. “We all did what was necessary,” she said quietly, “to feed ourselves and our children.” She reached out and pulled her son to her side protectively.

“And it worked!” a new voice called. A woman from across the street.

The man turned his glare on her. “And the gods will all judge us for our actions,” he growled before letting out another dry bark of laughter. “That is, if the gods even know or care that we exist in the first place!”

“Shame, grandfather, you are disturbing the children,” Tiy retorted. “The gods are merciful and forgiving.”

“You should listen to my wife. She is the high priestess of Osiris in this town, after all.”

Akefia squealed again and ran towards the man walking a horse over to their hut. “Father!” 

Merenre gave a full-bellied laugh and scooped his son up, tossing him high in the air and catching him. “Akhet! You waited for me?”

“Yes, Father!” Akefia responded, shooting a glance at his mother, who held a hand to her mouth to hide her smile.

Merenre strode over to their hut, eying the man who still lurked half inside of his own hut. “I don’t remember you complaining when we started coming back with food. It was too little too late for many, but we survived. And we will continue to flourish.” The conviction in Merenre’s voice caused Tiy to smile. Merenre turned his attention to his wife and reached out a hand to stroke her face. Two women across the street burst out into giggles and the grandfather next door ducked back into his hut with a grunt and a red face at the public display of affection.

Not one to be outdone by her husband, Tiy reached out a hand and caressed Merenre’s shoulder, neither of them caring about the social breach. Akefia looked back and forth between them, and noticed that Maatkare was focused on something in the distance, a smile growing big and bright across his sister’s face. Maatkare left the small group to greet her own husband as he dismounted from his horse a short distance away.

“Merenre,” Tiy was saying, “your son shall be an artist! Look at the handiwork the gods have blessed him with!”

Merenre smiled down at Akefia’s writing and shifted his son around so that he held him at arm’s length, Akefia's feet dangling several feet off the ground. “Yes, my son shall be an artist,” he responded, beaming at Akefia. “He shall design the mightiest and noblest of tombs and will bring great honor to our village!” Merenre tossed him into the air again. “He shall be great and strong!”

“You think so, Father?” Akefia asked, breathless from laughing. He clung to his father’s thick, muscular neck tightly.

“Of course I do, my son,” Merenre said seriously. “And I think our little Ahmose will be the greatest of priestesses.”

“Akhet has already agreed to teach Ahmoset her name when she gets old enough,” Tiy said proudly. “He will surpass me soon.”

Merenre laughed and set Akefia down on his feet, gently bending down and nuzzling his nose against a still-nursing Ahmose. “This pleases me to know, that our son will be able to continue our traditions.” Ahmose sighed and released Tiy, mouth opening in a huge, toothless yawn as a hand raised and clung to Tiy’s dress.

“Ah, the baby grows sleepy,” Tiy observed, shifting Ahmose to her shoulder. She glanced down at Akefia. “And it grows time for all little ones to be in bed.”

Akefia pouted and opened his mouth to protest when there was a huge commotion down the street leading to the open desert. A man charged in at breakneck speed, driving the horse as if he had a host of demons on his tail. The man raised his head and howled “MERENRE!” desperately. 

Tiy yanked Akefia out of the way and shoved him inside the open door of the hut as the man yanked the horse’s reigns at the last second, coming to a screeching halt outside of the hut. The man tumbled down panting at Merenre’s feet. 

Merenre reached down and helped the man gently to his feet. “Brother, what is wrong?” he asked.

The man clutched at Merenre’s sand-strewn clothing. “An army rides for us! The Pharaoh has sent men to destroy us!”

Merenre frowned and raised his hand for quiet after a crowd of people began talking at once in panicked voices. “Enough! Let him speak. How do you know this, my friend?”

The man was gulping in lungfuls of air like he was a drowning man who had found the surface once more. “I saw them! Fifty soldiers at least! And a large group of men who looked like priests following behind them!”

Merenre frowned. “Fifty? Why do you fear? We outnumber them. If the Pharaoh had sent a force to destroy us, he would have sent more men than a mere fifty soldiers.”  
“I have a bad feeling. Something is not right. We must prepare the city’s defenses immediately!” the man replied. “Just the look of them was enough to put me on edge. Something terrible is about to happen, I can feel it!”

The gaggle of panicked voices started up again and Merenre shouted to be heard over them. “People of Kul Elna! Do not panic. They bring priests; perhaps this is a visit to our temple to make sure the great dragon is getting the worship he deserves. Let the women and children go to the temple and every able-bodied man stay here to defend the city and to ascertain their purpose.” Merenre turned to his wife and his eyes hardened. “We will not let them take our village,” he growled in a low, commanding voice.

Tiy nodded and reached down to grab Akefia’s hand, yanking him back out of the hut. “We will go and prepare the temple for worship,” she said. “As High Priestess of Kul Elna, I will gladly receive their priests in the temple.”

Merenre nodded and again cupped his wife’s cheek in a big hand, staring into her eyes for a few seconds before pulling away and ruffling Akefia’s hair. “Go with your mother and do as she says,” he said, a warning against disobedience in his voice.

Akefia thought better of arguing and allowed himself to be pulled through the streets after his mother. They were soon joined by Maatkare and several other women, both young and old.

The temple dedicated to Osiris was a small structure carved into a sandstone bluff at the edge of town. His mother often said that it was not beautiful or impressive as the temples at the capital of Thebes, but the entire town long ago had carved this temple themselves. Their lives and sweat and blood were the first offerings the great dragon received at his new temple. The pillars outside of the structure were elaborately painted with red and depicted the god himself in all of his glory twisting up the two pillars. Both entrance pillars stood a good fifteen feet above the desert sands, and Akefia had to crane his neck to look at the tops. He was yanked along by his mother, who was still carrying Ahmose pressed against her shoulder, the infant amazingly nodding off to sleep despite the commotion.

Inside the temple, the walls were decorated with carvings and paintings dedicated to the god. Earthenware bowls set in alcoves in the walls held candles, the only lighting in the temple. In the flickering light, the painting of Osiris on the far wall behind the altar seemed to come to life and undulate, two mouths opening and closing around his enemies.  
Tiy went straight to the altar and lit the ceremonial sticks of incense, the strong, pungent scent beginning to waft around the huge room. A few of the women entered side corridors which led to storage rooms and returned with more earthenware bowls and cups, as well as several tambourines, rattles, and even an old wooden harp.

Maatkare knelt down before the altar and moved her lips in prayer, placing her shaking hands on her belly. An old woman sat down and began tuning the harp, discordant sounds adding to the din of women and children pouring in. Akefia heard a young girl telling an old woman that her mother had stayed to defend their home against possible invaders along with her father.

The large room was more than big enough to house the entirety of the village population. People crowded together in small groups, talking quietly or praying to Osiris. Akefia stayed by Maatkare, looking out over the room of women and children and even old men.

They stayed that way for a while, Akefia fidgeting and drawing in the sand on the floor. Maatkare hadn’t moved from her position in front of the altar, though her hands had stopped shaking and were instead rubbing her belly. Tiy had set up a place behind the altar, staring up at the painting of Osiris and occasionally looking towards the entrance to the temple. Most of the people appeared to be on edge, eyes shifting around the temple. Other than the odd conversation breaking out, it was quiet. The sound of flickering candles and torches were the only sounds to be heard.

And then the sound of metal clashing on metal started.

At first it was faint, coming from the opposite end of town, then it started to get closer, and with it the screams of men in battle. Those closest to the temple doors jumped up and moved closer to the front. People in the temple focused their attention on the outside and voices rose in worry as the sounds of battle drew closer to the sanctuary.

Akefia was pulled to his feet by his mother. “Akhet, listen to me!” Tiy said, her face pale and breathing hard. “Go with your sister into one of the rooms and do not leave there no matter what you hear.”

“But, mother!”

“Do not question me,” Tiy hissed. She firmly handed Ahmose to Akefia. “Follow Maatkare now! I will deal with this. Go!”

Wordlessly, Maatkare took Akefia’s hand and dragged him down a corridor into a room containing a large table and several cabinets carved into a wall. Maatkare let go of Akefia and opened one of the cabinets, peering inside briefly before gesturing to her younger brother. 

“Quick, inside!” she hissed, pointing into the darkness of the cabinet.

Akefia hesitated. “But, I don’t want to.”

Maatkare pulled Ahmose from him and then bodily shoved him to the cabinet. “You must!” she said. “I’ll be just outside. You and the baby can hide here without being seen!”

Akefia whimpered. “Those soldiers are going to hurt us, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know, Akhet.” Maatkare’s eyes shone with tears. “I don’t know. But I need you to be brave and stay in here with Ahmose.”

“I wanna fight too! I can fight like Father!”

“NO!” Maatkare snapped. “It will be better if you stay in here. Someone has to protect Ahmoset, right?”

Akefia glanced to the baby sleeping in Maatkare’s arms and frowned. “Alright,” he said grudgingly and climbed into the cabinet, holding out his arms for his baby sister. Maatkare placed the baby in his arms. Ahmose stirred briefly, opening her eyes for a second before settling back down into sleep with a sigh.

Maatkare leaned forward and kissed Akefia’s forehead softly. “Listen, love. I will be right here. Just stay in there for me, alright? Be brave.”

Akefia let out an irritated breath and shifted in the cabinet. “I’m not scared,” he said, scrunching up his face belligerently. “Father will kill those stupid soldiers and protect us. And he said one day that I will be great and strong like him!”

Maatkare smiled, tears glinting on her cheeks in the candlelight. “I pray that he is right,” she whispered. “For now, you must protect Ahmose.” She stroked Ahmose gently on the brow and then leaned back and shut the door, plunging Akefia into darkness.

Noises were strangely muffled in the cabinet, and Akefia could hear his own breathing. Dimly, he heard his sister stand up and move about the room, pacing to and fro in silence.

Akefia was just beginning to relax when the screams started from the main temple room. His eyes shot open wide and he drew in a breath. He heard Maatkare stop abruptly and then move towards the cabinet. “Stay silent,” she hissed. He did not know where she went after that, but he assumed she crouched down out of sight behind the table.

Akefia strained his ears, heart beating so fast and hard that he thought it might burst out of his chest. He felt all the blood leaving his head, leaving him cold and his mind sluggish yet attentive to each noise he heard. There were sounds of screaming and crying, as well as men’s voices yelling and feet trampling.

One voice rose above the others. “Check the other rooms! Make sure not one of them escapes! Take them alive!”

Then, there was the sound of pounding feet that entered their room. Akefia stopped breathing and started praying to any god that would listen that the feet would just move on and that they wouldn’t see Maatkare…

“Hey! Here’s a pretty little one!”

Maatkare cried out and Akefia heard her struggling and men laughing. One of them was suggesting to the others that they take her dress off and “have fun with her,” whatever that meant. Akefia heard his sister scream and start begging and struggled to stay silent himself. All of a sudden, something knocked into the cabinet with a loud bang that woke up Ahmose.

The baby started wailing.

The sounds in the room stopped, then Maatkare’s sobbing and begging started anew before the door was wrenched open and Akefia found himself face to face with an ugly man that stank of sweat and horse and blood.

The man grinned toothily and yanked Akefia out of the cabinet by his foot. Akefia yelped as he banged his head on the door as he went. It took all he had just to hang on to the crying Ahmose. He found himself hanging upside down by his ankle, looking at the man who grabbed him. There were three more holding Maatkare, and Akefia dimly noticed that her dress was torn. He clutched his crying sister to his chest and screamed, “Let me down!”

The giant of a man laughed. “Very well,” he sneered and simply let go of Akefia’s ankle.

Akefia fell hard and knocked his head on the floor. To his horror, his grip loosened on Ahmose and she bounced out of his arms, hitting the ground a few feet away. Dazed, Akefia started to crawl over to her, reaching out. She was still crying, so she might not be too hurt…

The torchlight flashed on a scimitar as if came down and buried itself in Ahmose. The crying died out with a choked gurgle and then everything fell silent.

Akefia stared, uncomprehending at the bloody blade buried in Ahmose’s body, still reaching out as if to save her, to draw her back and keep her safe. Red liquid, black in the candlelight, seeped out around the tiny, frail body. Akefia noticed some of it dripping down his face. 

He was thrust into the present again as Maatkare screamed, a desperate, bloodcurdling sound of grief and rage mixed together. Akefia gasped and shrieked as well, jumping to his feet and throwing himself at the man standing above his baby sister’s body. He never got there, as he was yanked up by his hair by the man who had dropped him.

“Have your way with the girl, then bring her down to the tomb with the others. This one is strong; he will be used in the ritual.”

Maatkare screamed again as the men descended on her, a hand reaching out desperately. Akefia yelled and kicked out as best he could, hanging onto the hand that held his hair and kept him suspended off the ground. The man took him back into the main temple room, where a line of men and women were being prodded down a set of stairs into darkness by guards with wicked-looking lances and blades. He knew that was the way to the catacombs.

Akefia was tossed down, then kicked down the stairs. Screaming, he righted himself by grabbing a man’s legs, then pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the raging pain in his ribs. The tide of captives and soldiers propelled him down the stairs to the bottom, where the captives were being sorted out into two groups. Old people and the sick were being shoved to one side of the room while everyone else found themselves pushed into a large circle of guards. To one end of the room, a group of priests stood with their heads together, ignoring the screams and cries of the captive villagers.

Akefia was shoved into the circle along with two young women whose clothes were torn and who had blood running down their legs. One girl stumbled and Akefia nearly tripped over her, but someone else snatched him up.

Akefia reeled back to punch this new person when he recognized the tear-streaked face of his mother. Tiy cradled him against her breast, breathing heavily, and Akefia withered.

“Mama,” he gasped, tears prickling his eyes, “Ahmoset is…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the terrible statement, but Tiy understood. He could see a bit of light leave her eyes before she closed them for a long moment, a chocked sob escaping her lips. Akefia whimpered too and buried his head into her neck, trying to ignore the crowd of screaming people around him, pushing and sweating and threatening to overwhelm both him and his mother.

Suddenly, Tiy’s eyes flew open. She sniffed the air. Akefia took a sniff too. Underneath the smells of sweat and fear, he could smell smoke. 

“They’re heating up a cauldron of something,” a familiar, grim voice said. Merenre had come through the crowd and put his arms around his wife. “From what I can see, they are bringing in a lot of gold. There are seven huge cauldrons. They are making smelts of some sort. I don’t know for what, but some of them are bringing down a lot of gold.”

Akefia strained to see over the heads of the villagers and soldiers, but Tiy was not a tall woman. Merenre’s eyes were unfocusing slightly, and Akefia realized that he was in pain. A huge gash ran down his side, and despite the bandages wrapped around it, it was seeping fresh blood.

Before he could cry out, Merenre put a large hand on Akefia’s head. Akefia sniffled instead.

“Why, Father?” he whispered. “Why are they doing this to us?”

“They call us evil, and say we have evil spirits in our hearts,” Merenre replied, wincing as someone shoved into his wounded side. A spurt of blood escaped the bandages at the sudden pressure and dripped onto the ground. Merenre gasped in pain, shifting his hold on the bandages. “All of the warriors they took alive, wounding all of us to incapacitate us,” he murmured. “I don’t like this. Can you hear what those priests are chanting, Tiy?”

Akefia strained his ears and heard a string of chanting worming its way through the crowd, nipping at everyone’s ears like a snake. Akefia didn’t know what the priests were chanting, but he could feel tension in the air, a buzzing, prickling sensation like the calm before a storm, when the very air is heralding what is to come.

Tiy drew in a sharp, hissing breath. “Osiris, help us,” she breathed. Louder, to her husband, she said, “They are chanting in the old tongue. I can’t understand all of it, but from what I can understand, this is a ritual. They mean to sacrifice us to use our spirits to create something!”

Merenre cursed, his eyes going wide. “We have to stop this!”

Tiy didn’t respond to him. She simply put Akefia on the ground and knelt in front of him, tugging on the hems of his dirty smock. “Akefia, my son, I need you to listen to me,” she said, amethyst eyes glinting sharply in the flickering light of the fire. “Tell me you will listen to your mother.”

Akefia sniffled and straightened up. “I’m listening, mama,” he replied.

“I have always told you that you are a special child. You are blessed by the gods. Do you remember what I told you?”

Akefia nodded. “You said the gods gave me a strong ka,” he responded. “And that I will use it to do great things one day.”

“That’s right,” Tiy said, the ghost of a smile flitting across her face. “I meant it. I sensed your ka when you were born. It was strong then; it is even stronger now. I need you to trust in your ka now to get you through this.”

“Yes, mama,” Akefia replied. “But how-?”

“Listen to me, Akhet. Your father and I are going to cause a distraction. When we do, look for an opening. Run towards the shadows, my darling. Run fast. Stay in the shadows until you reach the staircase. You are a clever boy; I know you can escape.” Tiy paused to kiss her son on the forehead. “Do you remember the way to the secret cave your father and I showed you?”

“The one that we keep extra food and water in?” Akefia asked. “The one high up in the cliffs that has a dead noble inside?”

“Yes; that place,” Tiy nodded. “When you get out, run there. Run and don’t look back, my darling. There is food and water there for you. Stay there, my love, my dear son. You must get there and stay hidden for a while, do you understand your mama?”

Akefia felt his tears spill over. “What about you and papa?” he asked. “Will you come with me?”

Merenre put his hand on Akefia’s hair. “We will follow when we get out,” he said soothingly. “Wait for us there, alright? You’re strong; you can make it.”

“Remember mama and papa love you,” Tiy said, drawling Akefia into her arms and hugging him tightly. “Run, my child. Run and don’t look back!”

Tiy stood up and called out, her voice echoing over the ruckus. “Priests of the high palace! Priests of the great goddess Ra-Horakhty! Why do you commit such a horrendous crime against your own people?” 

The chanting did not stop, although many of the people closest to Tiy turned toward her and stopped their yelling and crying to listen.

“I know what it is you are doing!” Tiy called, her voice ringing in the underground chamber. “You attempt to commit a great injustice: the slaughter of an entire town! A mass human sacrifice of your own people! How could you do this? Where is your honor?”

Merenre charged at the wall of soldiers, yelling, “To me, Kul Elna! Fight for your lives, or be slaughtered!”

A guard with a long pole hit Merenre on the head with an audible crack, and Akefia’s father fell to the ground, dazed.

Before anyone had time to react, another man stepped into the ring. He was tall and impending, with long grey hair and a short, sharp beard. Instead of priestly robes, he wore clothing that indicated a high status, finely made and colorful robes. He stared directly at Tiy with black eyes and grabbed her, yanking her out of the circle violently.

Akefia took a deep breath, willed his ka to aid him, and ran out of the opening after them. 

No one stopped him. No one even looked at him. 

Except for his mother. Tiy looked at him and smiled, even as the man dragged her over to one of the cauldrons and up onto a stand beside it. Akefia darted into the shadows.

“People of Kul Elna!” the man yelled, his voice magnified beyond human levels by what Akefia knew in his gut was magic. “I am Akhenaten, the brother of the Pharaoh! Because of the sins you have committed, our Pharaoh sentences you to death!”

Screams rose over the crowd but were soon hushed strangely, cut off abruptly by magic. Akefia pressed his back to the wall, his eyes widening.

“But, fear not!” the man, Akhenaten, continued, a sick smile spreading across his face. Akefia was reminded of a painting of Ammit the Destroyer, of how the beast smiled as it devoured sinners whose hearts were weighted down by evil. “You will be used for a greater purpose! You will not be executed! You will be incorporated into a magnificent undertaking that will help save the entire country of Khemet! Observe, as this woman demonstrates what is to be done with you! In each of these cauldrons is melted gold. Thieves like you must not be separated with your stolen gold after all, so be united with it for eternity!” And with that, Akhenaten shoved Tiy into the cauldron of boiling gold.

Bloodcurdling screams of agony echoed off the ends of the room as Tiy’s skin was melted off of her bones. The priests continued their chanting as the citizens of Kul Elna were led forward and thrown into the seven cauldrons. Unearthly howls of tortured souls echoed around the chamber, and Akefia screamed himself out of terror.

Suddenly, a guard appeared in front of him. “Who’s escaped?” he snarled. 

Akefia froze, petrified, and stared up into the bearded face of a soldier and was sure it would be the last face he would ever see.

But the soldier stared into the corner with a confused expression. “Thought I heard something,” he muttered before turning around and walking over to the second group of captive villagers. The old and the sick watched in horror as their children, their grandchildren, their friends neighbors were led to their deaths. And then the guards started beheading those too weak for the sacrifice. Old men and women were brutally put to the sword where they stood.

Akefia felt numb. He wanted to run, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the nightmare playing out before him. He heard familiar shrieking and watched as his pregnant sister was tossed, naked, into the fiery cauldron. He couldn’t move, could only stare in silent horror as his whole world was cast into flames.


	2. It Begins Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOP O’ THE MORNIN’ TO YA MY NAME IS RAELYN SAKURA AND WELCOME TO ANOTHER EPISODE OF PAIN AND SUFFERING

Akefia stumbled up the cold stone steps blindly, clutching the wall for support. The screams chased him, echoing up the stairs and bouncing off the walls. The oppressive heat in the catacombs gradually turned to numbing cold, but the child didn’t feel any of it. 

As he came to the top of the stairs, nausea overcame him and he simply bent over and tossed up his dinner next to a stand containing sweet-smelling flowers dedicated to Osiris. He kept heaving long after there was nothing left to give, and he then collapsed back against the wall, sliding down it slowly with a whimper. He watched as the torchlight brought wall carvings to life: the mighty dragon flying over the sky, over fields ripe with plentiful harvest with men and women and children singing and dancing in joy as Osiris’ blessing brought many new infants into the world.

Infants…

Akefia bolted to his feet with a gasp. Ahmose! He couldn’t let them burn Ahmose! If they did, then her spirit would be forced to wander, never allowed into the afterlife!  
He deliberately forced down the thought that no one else in his village would be able to find peace, either.

His mind focusing sharply on his task, he bolted down a corridor and came to a screeching halt in front of the room he had been taken from. It was dark. The candles had long since gone out. But he knew she was here. He could somehow feel her confused spirit lingering. The smell of freshly spilled blood had pervaded the room and even wafted into the halls. Taking a deep breath after giving his eyes time to adjust, he stepped into the room.

She lay in the center of the room, where she had fallen. The soldiers had not even bothered to move her tiny corpse. Akefia started for her, then stepped on something soft. Maatkare’s torn dress. He bent and picked up a large swath of fabric, bringing it to his nose and breathing deeply of his sister’s scent. Her clothes smelled of sweat and herbs and the smoke of incense. Choking down a sob, Akefia reached for his infant sister and wrapped her up carefully in the shreds of Maatkare’s dress. Ahmose’s blood bled through the thin cloth and onto his shirt, but Akefia didn’t care.

“Please guide me,” he whispered, to whom he did not know. He turned and walked quietly, keeping to the shadows in case there were other guards lurking about.  
Night had fallen and the temperature had dropped drastically when he stepped outside. The wind blew through empty huts and cut right through the thin tunic Akefia had on. Shivering, Akefia darted through the shadows cast by the huts, encountering nothing until he came to the edge of the city. There, seven bodies of soldiers were laid out in the middle of the road. Seven was all the defenders of Kul Elna, tomb keepers and artists by trade and thieves by necessity, managed to kill before they were taken down to the underground tomb and…

Akefia shook his head and looked directly forward, trying to ignore the carnage, As he was passing one of the bodies, however, a beam of moonlight reflected off of the half-buried blade of a dagger sticking out of one of the guard’s chest. Akefia recognized the design on the hilt; it had belonged to his father.

Without giving himself time to think, Akefia changed course and placed his hand around the hilt of the dagger, pulling with all of his strength. The dagger made a wet, squelching sound as it pulled free, taking tiny bits of flesh with it. Akefia gagged again but forced down his bile. He wiped the blade off on the soldier’s kilt before turning back to the desert.  
Once at the edge of the town, Akefia hesitated, fighting the urge to look back, as if he would look back and see everyone he cared about, as if this were all a bad dream…

Akefia took a deep breath, banished all thoughts from his mind except for the thought of the tomb set in the cliff face where there was refuge waiting for him, and then ran as fast as he could into the desert.

Keeping the Nile on his left, Akefia dashed through the sand, careful to keep himself balanced so as not to fall on his newly acquired dagger. With each step, his body grew more and more numb, and his mind more and more blank. Where was he again? What was he running towards? Shaking himself firmly, he glanced up at the cliff side and saw the familiar rock formation that marked the entrance to the noble’s tomb.

His father had personally designed and built this tomb, working for many years to carve out the limestone cliffs into a beautiful palace shielded from the outside elements. He had then been in charge of the painting and artwork that would forever memorialize the nobleman and his family that it was built for. Akefia was told the process had taken five years of constant work altogether, and even then the tomb was relatively small, compared to the tombs of the Pharaohs, the gods on earth. Tiy had even laughed when she told Akefia that Merenre had sometimes spent nights in the unfinished tomb, not coming home for as long as half a week in his dedication to finish. As such, Merenre knew every inch of the tomb like the back of his hand. It was in this tomb, hidden away high on the cliff, that Merenre had hidden stores of dried food and water. He had hidden them in a tiny side chamber, barely big enough for a single grown man, just in case disaster were to strike the village.

Akefia had been here many times, especially in the years after the devastating famine that had forced his family to commit the greatest crime in Khemet: tomb robbing. Merenre had planned on using this place as a safe house, in case of emergency, and had stocked it for that purpose, regularly returning to exchange the water that grew stale with fresh water. He had even had Akefia memorize the way in the dark, several times having his young son lead him to make sure he knew the way.

It took Akefia the better part of an hour to navigate his way up the bluff, despite knowing the way without the help of a torch. He was exhausted and famished, and the numb feeling was returning. When he finally made it to the opening in the cliff, he collapsed, the small bundle containing Ahmose falling to his side with a dull thump.  
Akefia felt his stomach rumbling, knew his body needed food and water, but he found himelf unable to move. He couldn’t get up. He knew where there was sustenance nearby, but his body would not cooperate. So he lay down on his side, facing away from the bundle of bloody cloth containing his sister’s earthly remains, and did the only thing he was able to do.

He ceased to think, ceased to feel, as the moonlit world went dark around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was shorter than I wanted it to be and took a lot longer to get out than I thought. I'm pretty busy at the moment adulting, sorry. There will be more hopefully soon.


	3. Millennia Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not done with our favorite smol thief yet. I'm skipping around the timeline.

The bastard knew.

Shaddah, in all of his infinite and holy wisdom, had figured it out.

Well, it only took him a millennia or two. 

As soon as Bakura started to finally become aware of the world outside of the Ring, the first thing he noticed was that he was underground, in a tomb. A royal tomb, in fact.  
He would have laughed at the irony if his soul wasn’t still reeling from being ripped out of his body and thrust into the Millennium Ring.

Through a haze of pain, he noticed other humans in the tomb with him. They came and went, occasionally checking on the other Items entombed with him, and Bakura tried desperately to lash out at them every time they came too close. 

His helplessness was perhaps the worst torture this prison inflicted on him.

As one poor, stupid tomb robber learned the hard way, one had to be physically touching the Ring for Bakura to do physical harm to them.

The shock of being moved after centuries of lying still with no living human contact was a shock that could be felt all through the Ring. Bakura hadn’t been paying close attention to the outside, but was jerked into awareness as the Ring was torn from the stone it was resting in. Instinctively, Bakura lashed out, wanting nothing more than to inflict pain on someone, anyone, for his imprisonment.

The thief burst into flames.

Bakura had never been so satisfied.

The man’s screaming drew the other Guardians, including the oh-so-wise and holy priest himself. There was nothing they could do. It took agonizing minutes for the man to burn to nothing and for his screaming to stop.

Just like my family, Bakura thought to himself.

The Guardians were shuffling around nervously and muttering to themselves. They were scared, Bakura noticed with glee. He dared them to come closer and share the thief’s fate.

And then Shaddah stepped forward, his long robes swishing silently about his legs. Using some sort of hook, he picked up the Ring and placed it back on the stone sarcophagus. His face was grim in the torchlight.

Bakura’s glee turned abruptly to seething rage. Back to where he started. Not for the first time, he cursed Zorc for trapping him here. 

Zorc himself chuckled darkly from within the confines of the Ring. “Curse me all you want, boy. I still own you, body and soul.” With the voice came intense amounts of pain, as well as flash images of Bakura’s family being slaughtered. Bakura screamed.

When he finally regained himself- months, years, centuries later, he couldn’t tell with the Ring- he noticed that the number of humans he sensed in the tomb with him had dwindled drastically. He had no idea how much time had passed, but it seemed most of the humans had died off.

Good riddance.

Well, it would be good riddance, only now he had no one to share his torture with, and no one to take his Ring out of this accursed tomb.

“Fear not, Thief,” Zorc whispered. “I am here with you. One day we will have our revenge.”

Bakura didn’t know what was worse: being trapped in the Ring, or that he was trapped with the evil presence that put him there in the first place.

There were times when Shaddah would come into the chamber and just sit, keeping himself as far away from the sarcophagus as possible. He wouldn’t say anything, just sit for hours and stare.

It drove Bakura mad. The former priest clearly knew something was up, yet no action was being done. If only he would come closer and let Bakura fry him a little; that would alleviate some of Bakura’s intense boredom.

But no, Shaddah was too damn smart to go anywhere within incinerating distance from Bakura, and sat maddeningly across the chamber and stared at him.

Ever since the first incident with the tomb robber, there had been three other attempted robberies. Each one that picked up the Ring got melted. It probably wasn’t hard for Shaddah to figure out that there was something different about the Ring, but apparently, “wisdom” did not equate to “common sense” in Shaddah’s case.  
Shaddah’s silent vigil was broken only once. 

“You won’t win against him,” the priest whispered, as if to himself. “The Pharaoh is too strong.” He straightened up. “He’s not dead, you know,” he said in a conversational tone. “He defeated you, and he will do so again. You failed. You will always fail.”

Bakura’s scream of rage manifested itself in the outside world as the Ring rattled violently. The priest didn’t even flinch. Instead he looked a bit smug as he stood up and walked out of the chamber without another word.

Bakura realized belatedly that the bastard had been trying to get a rise out of him, and that infuriated him even more.

“One day, he will be dust beneath my feet,” Zorc put in helpfully as the Shadows reached out as if to comfort Bakura. “I will grind him under my foot until there is nothing left.” 

Bakura was dragged farther into the shadows, into blackness. “And you, my slave, will help me accomplish this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time. Next time will be longer, and we will be back with little Akefia.


End file.
